


Arcadia

by SilverBird13



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Hand Worship, Hand porn, M/M, Minor mention of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4049926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverBird13/pseuds/SilverBird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Valjean’s eyes close and his hand goes limp as he lets out a soft breath, and Javert cannot resist kissing the tips of Valjean’s fingers after he pours the pitcher over Valjean’s hand to rinse it clean."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arcadia

Javert has never enjoyed the summer months, the heat causing stenches and stirrings of crime to rise not only from the gutter, but from the supposedly civilized as well. This July is likely no exception, but hidden away within Valjean’s property putrid sewage gives way to overturned earth and gunshots are muffled by Valjean’s gasps of pleasure.

Today, the garden is far too hot for comfort by midmorning, and Javert is just about to abandon his frustration at the newspaper and ask Valjean to take a respite in the kitchen with him and a glass of lemonade when he sees a slender red ribbon curve across the hand Valjean is not holding his trowel in. Javert shudders as the breeze seems to waft the scent of rot into the garden.

Valjean, however, makes no sound and seemingly does not acknowledge the pain or Javert’s rigidity. Instead, he continues weeding, a droplet of blood sinking into the recently-tilled earth. 

Javert uncrosses his legs and walks the few steps between them, kneeling and gently grasping Valjean’s wounded hand between his own. Valjean looks over at him, warmth in his eyes but confusion written in his expression.

“You’re cut,” Javert says, gently swiping another thick drop of blood away from the back of Valjean’s hand with the pad of his thumb.

Valjean smiles blandly and gives a slight shrug as Javert presses upon the cut with the heel of one hand to abate the blood’s flow. “A scratch. I’ve certainly had worse.”

Javert averts his eyes from Valjean’s regretful gaze, the momentary silence becoming pregnant with memories that have been sifted through but that cannot be erased. He quickly clears his throat. “I will bandage it. Exposing it to the soil could cause infection.” 

Valjean’s puzzled look remains, but he allows Javert to lead him into the kitchen, where Javert carefully helps him sit down on a stool, removing his hand from the cut and replacing it with his handkerchief. He pours Valjean a glass of the portress’s lemonade and sets it on the counter beside him while he goes to their shared room to search for the bandages Valjean no doubt still had a store left of even after Javert had been nursed back to health. He sifts through the chest at the foot of their bed, pulling out a box full of wrappings and a spare cloth and cake of soap. Satisfied, he also carries Valjean’s washing pitcher and bowl back with him to the kitchen, where Valjean still sits with the handkerchief pressed to his hand, the glass of lemonade half-full. Valjean gives a little laugh, though Javert is alarmed at the blood that has seeped through the cloth he holds. 

“You need not fuss over me, Javert,” he says good-naturedly as he watches Javert pour the water into the bowl and soap the cloth. 

Javert raises his eyebrows, removing the handkerchief from Valjean’s hand and replacing it with the tepid cloth. When Valjean makes no noise of pain, he lightly scrubs the wound clean, narrowing his eyes at the blood that continues to flow from it. He presses the wet cloth to the wound to try and stop the bleeding once again, looking up at Valjean with what he hopes is a soft expression. Valjean lays his other hand upon Javert’s cheek, forgetting the dirt splayed under his nails and across his palms. Javert attempts a soft smile and removes the bloodied cloth, placing Valjean’s entire hand into the bowl of water, rinsing it of most of the blood and dirt. He runs the soap along his own palms, coating them before clasping Valjean’s wounded hand and slowly massaging it free of any reluctant filth. Valjean’s eyes close and his hand goes limp as he lets out a soft breath, and Javert cannot resist kissing the tips of Valjean’s fingers after he pours the pitcher over Valjean’s hand to rinse it clean.

Javert smiles at Valjean’s sudden intake of breath and lightly laps at the pad of Valjean’s thumb, temptation quickly causing him to take it into his mouth and lightly suck it, a mockery of an act that will not be performed until nightfall. Valjean’s thumb tastes of the lavender soap he has just washed it with, and he is struck with disappointment at the foolishly unexpected taste. After a moment, he pulls his lips away, moving instead to wrap the circumference of Valjean’s palm with the bandage cloth, tearing it off and knotting it securely before casting another glance at the roughened hand topped with rosy, childlike nails. Despite the heat, it remains chapped, and Javert makes a note to ask the portress for some unguent. 

“You are quite a competent nurse, Javert. Thank you.” Valjean rewards Javert with a soft kiss, the taste of his mouth sweeter than any man’s should be. Javert smiles into it, a flare of old smugness returning at the compliment and the lingering of Valjean’s lips on his. 

“We should rest,” he replies after a moment. “It will grow cooler in several hours. Perhaps we could take tea in the garden.”

Valjean nods, running his fingers along the bandage lightly as he gazes at Javert.

“I would like that very much indeed.”


End file.
